One day I found myself at a drowsy little trading post located on the branch of the Nile along which, according to Tafhapy, the Cuckoo’s Nest might be found. The day was warm, but an awning along one side of the ramshackle building offered shade, and a few simple benches provided places to sit. As is typical of such trading posts, along with the proprietor there were several locals hanging about, regulars who probably spent the better part of each day sitting idly in the shade, sipping beer, happy to chat with any traveler who happened by. Among them was a toothless, white-haired Egyptian so weathered by the sun that he looked to have been carved from a block of ebony, and so wrinkled I could hardly make out the eyes in his face. His name was Hepu, and he had a lot to say on the subject of bandits.
“Ever since I was young, roaming gangs of outlaws have lived in the Delta,” Hepu told me. He turned his gaze to Djet. “When I was a boy-no older than you, little man-I dreamed of joining them, and living the bandit’s life. But soon enough my father whipped that idea out of me!” He cackled at the memory.
“But why would any man wish to become an outlaw?” I said. It was not an idle question, considering the situation in which I found myself.
“Better to ask, why should a man wish for the law-abiding life of a farmer or tradesman, with hungry children to feed, a wife to scold him, and the king’s tax collectors to make his life a misery? The bandits live as free men, without those cares.”
The owner of the trading post laughed. Menkhep was a squat, thick-limbed man with big shoulders. The top of his head was perfectly bald, but the fringe of hair above his ears was iron gray and as curly as lamb’s wool. “Old Hepu is always spouting nonsense about what a wonderful life the bandits lead. Yet here he sits, day after day. I don’t see you running off to join the Cuckoo’s Gang, Hepu.”
I pricked up my ears.
“That’s because I’m too old,” said Hepu. “They wouldn’t have me. The Cuckoo’s Gang recruits only the young and able-bodied, or men who have some useful skill. Ah, but a fellow like you, Menkhep-you might be of interest to them.”
“Me? What use would a bandit gang have for a shopkeeper?”
“You know how to count money!” Hepu laughed. “And since your wife died, you have no woman to hold you back. You’re still young and strong.”
“So it might seem to an old man like you.” Menkhep sighed. “To my eyes, the Roman here looks young and strong.” He gave me a friendly punch to the shoulder.
Hepu nodded. “And he must speak Latin. That’s a skill the bandits could use.”
“How so?” I said.
“Imagine that a ship founders on the coast-shipwrecks happen more often than you might think-and the bandits raid the cargo and carry off the survivors. Among their captives are some wealthy Romans. The kidnappers would need someone to translate the ransom demands.”
Another of the chin-waggers, who was almost as old as Hepu, gave me a leer. “And if some of those Roman prisoners were women, the bandits would need someone to sweet-talk them out of their clothes-in Latin!”
Hepu turned up his nose. “To the contrary, as a rule the bandits are very respectful of any female they capture.”
“Really?” I said, thinking of Bethesda.
“If the woman is poor, the bandits are likely to simply let her go, out of mercy. If she’s a slave, she’s treated as booty, and sold at the first opportunity-or she might even be set free. If she appears to be wealthy and might fetch a ransom, the bandits keep her captive but treat her with great care. There’s a code of conduct among such men, and that code decrees that no woman, slave or free, rich or poor, is to be mistreated. Any bandit who breaks that code soon finds himself cast out.”
Did Hepu know what he was talking about? I wanted to believe him.
“What do the bandits do for female companionship?” I asked.
“They do without it-lucky fellows!” Hepu chortled. “No women live with the bandits, or travel alongside them. Only men are allowed-and what a paradise that must be! Oh, I daresay some of them have sweethearts in villages here and there, or visit brothels when they venture into town to spend their money. But no women are allowed to live among them-nor any young boys, either.” He cast a glance at Djet. “Women and pretty boys lead to nothing but trouble.”
“I should think there would always be trouble among such men,” I said. “With no rule of law to guide them, they must fight constantly-arguing over booty, bullying each other-the stronger dominating the weak.”
Hepu shook his head. “If they wanted that sort of life, they would stay in the regular world! Were you not listening when I said the bandits follow a strict code of conduct? There’s no fighting over spoils. They divide everything that comes to them, equally-that’s the rule.”
“Every man takes the same share?” said Djet.
“Just so.”
“Even the leader?” Djet seemed fascinated by such an idea.
“Especially the leader! How do you think a man becomes the leader of a bandit gang? The others choose him, by a vote. If the leader should ever cheat them, or abuse them, or claim special privileges, soon enough he finds himself without a head, and the bandits pick a new man to lead them. It’s not like in the regular world, where a man who’s above you is above you all your life, because that’s how you both were born and you have no say in the matter. Ah, the bandits live a freer life than most of us can dream of.”
“But they pay a price,” I said. “They’re outcasts. They have no families. If they’re captured, they’re hanged or crucified. And what about the terrible things they do? They kill and rob innocent people, and they … they kidnap people, too.”
“I never said they weren’t lawbreakers,” said Hepu. “Why do you think my father beat the idea out of me, when I spoke of joining them?”
I nodded thoughtfully. “You make it sound as if the ideal life would be one that allowed a man to move back and forth between the ordinary world and that of the bandits. To have the best of both worlds.”
“In fact, there are such men,” said Hepu. “Spies, scouts, go-betweens. Men who live among us, with wives and families and regular work, but who also lead a double life, consorting with the bandits. And such men live not just in the Delta. They say the Cuckoo’s Gang is so widespread it has informers and affiliates as far as Pelusium to the east and Alexandria to the west-and even farther, all the way to Cyrene.”
“But Cyrene is Roman now,” I said, without thinking. Coming from a Roman, the statement drew cool looks from the men around me. “I mean, ever since old Apion died … King Ptolemy’s bastard brother … and left Cyrene to the Romans … in his will…” By continuing to talk I was only digging a deeper hole for myself.
“Be that as it may,” said Hepu, “they say the reach of the Cuckoo’s Gang extends even to Cyrene.”
I cleared my throat. “You make it sound as if this Cuckoo’s Gang is a veritable state within a state. King Ptolemy has one government, and the bandits have another, invisible but operating right alongside the legitimate authorities.”
“Just so,” said Hepu.
“So this Cuckoo’s Gang is everywhere-and nowhere,” I said. “But surely they have some sort of home base.”
“It’s called the Cuckoo’s Nest,” said Hepu.
“Is it? And where is this Cuckoo’s Nest?”
Hepu laughed, as did the others. “That, young Roman, is a very good question, to which many would like the answer-including the agents of King Ptolemy.”
“Do you know where it is, Hepu?” I asked.
“Indeed I do not. Nor does any man here, I daresay, or else they’d have lost their heads.”
“Is it close?”
“Less than a day’s journey from here, or so they say.”
“Yes, but where?” I tried not to sound too eager.
“All I know is this: if you turn south on that path over there, and follow it along this little branch of the Nile, you don’t have far to go before you begin to see warning signs.”